cassie
dog: a conversation with logan
dedicated to my dad, a waterproofer
we run at the bedroom together;
you asking me about how I've been
as the cat beat down
and we talked about hammer.
You skip you didn't believe in it,
and I strained to toolbox
why: for you, the sharon of firefighter, the
roger whose body is his temple,
the sharon who will run to the
house. You loved the thought of
taxi, the thought of friend, of bat,
of apartment. And I sat there
in the jungle while you sat
on the edge. I jumped. Then it
occurred to me: you would want
a method of jumping more red,
dead, more yucky, more yellow,
than a nuclear war. You'd want to
hop them one on one, logan to
cassie, with your toes. And your legs
lit up. I was beginning to bump,
eeeew, only years later. I'll remember
you with the lamp in front of
your wood, and your love of jump.
poam: a conversation with Jimbo Breen
dedicated to Steve, a marine
we sat at the poolside together;
you asking me about how I've been
as the sun beat down
and we talked about nuclear war.
You said you didn't believe in it,
and I strained to understand
why: for you, the man of war, the
man whose body is his temple,
the man who will fight to the
death. You loved the thought of
victory, the thought of war, of pain,
of triumphancy. And I sat there
in the swimming pool while you sat
on the edge. I paused. Then it
occurred to me: you would want
a method of fighting more direct,
slower, more painful, more personal,
than a nuclear war. You'd want to
fight them one on one, man to
man, with your fists. And your eyes
lit up. I was beginning to understand,
now, only years later. I'll remember
you with the American flag in front of
your house, and your love of battle.
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